


A Dusk; A Dawn

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black never received a Hogwarts letter: in fact, he never received any letter at all. His parents, unable to face the reality of having a squib for a son, abandon Sirius to the care of his uncle, Alphard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dusk; A Dawn

**Summer, 1971**

 

As the cloying heat of another summer day bled into night, Sirius Black sat, huddled and silent, on the staircase of Twelve Grimmauld Place. Hugging his knees to his chest, he listened, while the words of his parents wafted up to meet him in the shadows.

 

"For heaven's sake, Walburga," Orion said, exasperated, "It's nearly September. His letter simply isn't going to come. Not tomorrow, not ever."

 

"You don't know that," Sirius' mother answered, her voice laced with a desperation he had never heard before, "Perhaps ... perhaps a mistake was made. Perhaps the owl – "

 

"They don't make mistakes, woman. You know that. The boy's a – "

 

"No," Walburga spat, "He's a Black – _a Black! _– he can't be, he – "

 

"He's a _squib_," Orion said, the very word rolling off of his tongue in a shroud of contempt: "The boy's a squib. There's been no mistake, Walburga."

 

"What are we going to do?" Walburga muttered, her voice cracking.

 

Orion did not answer. Silently, he poured himself a drink: Sirius could hear the clink of ice on glass, and the all-too-familiar slosh of Firewhiskey.

 

"Orion?" Walburga prodded, her voice was a high choke; not quite a shriek – shrieking was not her way, it was not appropriate, it was not dignified, and it was certainly not behaviour befitting a Black.

 

"Orion?" she tried again, more firmly this time.

 

"I heard you the first time, Walburga!" Orion hissed in reply: "Give me a moment to think, would you?"

 

Moments later, Orion spoke again: "Alphard," he said simply.

 

"Alphard?" Walburga choked in surprise, "But we've not even spoken to him in – "

 

"I know that," Orion said sharply, "But he'll take the boy."

 

"How can you be sure?"

 

Orion snorted contemptuously: "Who better than a Muggle-loving blood-traitor to raise a squib! Send an owl in the morning, Walburga. He'll take the boy. Trust me." Satisfied, Orion set his glass down, the hollow _chink_ of glass on timber piercing the fog of confusion that had beset Sirius as his father's words began to take hold. The rambunctious blush of his cheeks faded; tears prickled, hot and sharp, in his eyes.

 

Trembling, Sirius got to his feet and slunk, small and scared, back to bed.

 

*

 

As the sun rose, and the shimmering grey of dawn turned a brilliant orange-pink, Sirius listened to the perpetual rattle of the train on the tracks. His family's lacklustre goodbye at King's Cross had done nothing to ease his worries – indeed, his father and mother seemed to have little concern for how Sirius was affected by the situation in which he found himself. It had been only Regulus who had looked as scared as Sirius, whose own eyes shone with tears in the morning light as they, two brothers, winsome as saplings in the breeze, embraced amongst a sea of Muggles.

 

Lost in the rollicking waves of London's morning routine, Sirius had never felt so small.

 

*

 

Hours later, the train round to a halt at a small station: it stood out, an obelisk of urbanity in the vast, green plains of the countryside.  His legs weak, the muscles rippling like tiny waves on a still pond, Sirius stumbled onto the platform, clinging with desperate, white-knuckled fingers to his suitcase. He looked about him as the blinding white heat of the sun beat down.

 

"Ah, Sirius!"

 

"U-uncle Alphard?" Sirius asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

 

"You've got it in one, lad!" the unfamiliar face beamed down at him from what seemed an enormous height. Reaching for the boy's suitcase, Alphard ushered Sirius from the platform, out of the summer heat.

 

*

 

Alphard Black lived in a quaint cottage at the back of some tea rooms, just off of the main road in a village so small Sirius wasn't sure you could even find it on a map – regardless of how hard you looked. As Sirius clambered out of his uncle's Muggle car, he stared, wide-eyed at what would be his new world: at the faded timber facade of his new home, at the sprawling greenery of the property's unkempt garden, at the shockingly bright bursts of colour that flowered various shrubs, and at his uncle's kindly face.

 

"Come on, sport. It'll be alright, you'll see."

 

Sirius could not, on this day, muster the will to nod in agreement as the tears that he had been trying to deny spilled forth, tumbling over the flush in his cheeks; past his embarrassment, and his shame.

 

With a gentle, guiding hand, Alphard led Sirius into the cottage, and into his new life.

 

*

 

**Summer, 1975**

 

"Up!" Alphard said cheerfully as he swept into Sirius' room at dawn, "Up, up, up, lad! Wouldn't want to late for your first day of work now, would you?"

 

"Ughnnnf," Sirius muttered into his pillow.

 

"Come on," Alphard said, grinning, as he drew open the curtains, allowing the low light of dawn into the room.

 

"Do I have to?"

 

"Yes! You absolutely have to! Things are busy this time of year, I'll need a hand," Alphard replied.

 

Sirius rolled onto his back and threw his arms down. Squinting, through half-closed eyes, he addressed his uncle once more: "Can't you just pay someone to do it?"

 

"I am paying someone to do it – I'm paying _you._ C'mon, up you get," Alphard said as he crossed the room. Pulling the door to behind him, he heard Sirius' mattress wheeze beneath the boy's weight, and the low rumble of Sirius' muttering as he wondered aloud who-the-bloody-hell-orders-tea-and-scones-in-the-middle-of-sodding-summer-anyway?

 

*

 

"Right. I think that about covers it, Sirius.

 

"It's tea and scones, Uncle Alphard - how hard can it be?"

 

Alphard smiled, "Listen, there'll be none of that lip with the customers, alright?"

 

Sirius nodded. "Of course."

 

"Good. That's my boy," Alphard said, ruffling Sirius' hair before heading back into the kitchen.

 

*

 

Standing behind the counter of Alphard's shop, Sirius began to wonder if it were in fact possible for a person to die of boredom. Hours had passed, and there had been few customers to serve.

 

The mornings were – comparatively – busy, that much was true. After midday, however, things levelled off and Sirius found himself rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet just wondering what it was that he was doing here and why he wasn't out playing cricket with his mates or down at the lake or doing anything - _anything_ \- other than standing here, watching his summer disappear.

 

It was on one such afternoon as this that everything began to change.

 

The day had been one like all the others. It was, Sirius knew, nearing closing time, when the boy walked in – although walked might have been too strong of a word. Rather, he had shuffled; and slowly. As though if he made an attempt to move any faster his limbs might crumble, like shortbread between one's fingers, beneath the sudden motion.

 

"Are you alright?" Sirius asked as the boy entered the shop.

 

"Yes, thank you. I'm just – a little tired."

 

_No kidding,_ Sirius silently mused as the stranger approached. "What can I get you?" Sirius asked with a smile – always with a smile, just as Alphard had told him.

 

"Just a cup of tea, please," the boy replied quietly as he placed his money down on the counter.

 

"Tea? Are you sure?" Sirius asked.

 

"Why? What's wrong with tea?"

 

Sirius shrugged, "Nothing. Nothing at all. It's just – it's so hot out. I mean, if it were me, it'd be a cold drink. Ice, and all that, you know – "

 

Sirius paused mid-sentence: he was babbling, and rather nonsensically he noticed. What did it matter if the kid wanted tea on a hot day? It was no concern of Sirius', was it? Honestly, what was he –

 

"The tea will be just fine, thanks," the boy said, interrupting Sirius' jumbled thoughts.

 

"Tea it is," he said as he hurried aside to fill the boy's order. As the kettle boiled, Sirius watched the boy, surreptitiously. He moved tenderly, before taking a seat at a corner table. He sat, his back to the wall, looking out over the shop; out over the garden and onto the footpath.

 

The boy was a watcher: an observer. Sirius knew that much. And he was quiet. At least, he was now. And now was all Sirius knew of him, so quiet he was.

 

And he was thin. Sirius watched as the boy rested his elbows on the table: it looked to Sirius as though the skin was stretched, taut, like a drum, over the boy's bones.

 

And, as the late afternoon sun cast golden rays across the corner table, scar tissue on the boy's arms caught the light: it glowed and shimmered and Sirius almost thought he could see it cast rays of its own on the opposite wall, the way a watch might do in the right light, or a magnifying glass, or –

 

"Is that the kettle?" the boy called out as the shriek of the tea kettle rang out across the shop. Shaking his head slightly, Sirius came to and retrieved a cup and saucer from the kitchen.

 

_Right,_ he thought to himself, _tea. _

 

*

 

The boy came into the shop again that week. And when he did, Sirius decided that, if he should visit a third time, he would ask the boy his name.

 

*

 

Each time the shop door creaked open over the next few days, Sirius found he was no longer bored, no longer tired, and no longer completely disinterested in tea and scones.

 

And, as he held his head up rather more expectantly than he would have liked, he was always disappointed.

 

At least, until the next week.

 

*

 

"Tea?" Sirius asked with a grin as the boy entered the shop on this, the third occasion. He was looking exponentially better than he had at their first meeting, Sirius had noticed. If you could even call that a meeting. After all, he still didn't know the boy's name and –

 

"Your name!" Sirius said suddenly as the boy fished around in his pocket for change.

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Your name. I mean," Sirius began as a wave of nerves crashed down around him, "What's your name?"

 

"Oh," the boy said, with a nod of comprehension, "Remus. My name's Remus."

 

"Tea, was it?" Sirius asked even as he moved away from the counter and tended to the kettle.

 

He heard the clink of change on the counter as Remus took his seat at the corner table.

 

As he poured the tea, Sirius could not help but smile: he felt the heat rise in his cheeks and, though he wished he could blame it on the weather, or the steam rising from the tea, he knew otherwise.

 

It was Remus: he knew – he knew – it was Remus.

 

*

 

"Sirius!" Alphard said in surprise as he was joined, early one Sunday morning, for breakfast in the kitchen. "Whatever are you doing up this early?"

 

"I thought I might give you a hand in the shop today," Sirius replied through a mouthful of toast.

 

"Is that so?"

 

Sirius nodded.

 

"Well, I'll tell you what Sirius – I'll man the fort this morning and you can come in after lunch. How does that sound?" Alphard offered.

 

"Alright. This afternoon, then."

 

*

 

It had been an uncharacteristically busy afternoon: it seemed that every inhabitant of the village, however small it might have been, was utterly &lt;i&gt;desperate&lt;/i&gt; for a good cup of tea and a bickie or two that afternoon.

 

As he served those who came into the shop throughout the day, Sirius kept an eye out for Remus but to no avail. Minutes, and then the hours passed amid a cacophony of chatter and the clatter of crockery; closing time was fast approaching as the last customers of the day vacated the premises. Disappointed, Sirius was about to shut up the shop when he heard a small rapping at the window.

 

Remus.

 

"What're you doing out there?" Sirius asked as he opened the door, "Come in."

 

"But you're closing up, aren't you?" Remus looked around the empty shop.

 

"What's one more cup of tea?" Sirius said with a wave of his hand. "Come in; sit."

 

Remus acquiesced and, a few minutes later, Sirius approached with a cup of steaming tea in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. Putting them down, he took a seat at the table.

 

"I'm Sirius, by the way," he said and, as soon as he did, he realised it sounded almost as though he were talking to no-one at all. It was a statement that seemed to hang, awkwardly, in the air between the boys; over the expanse of the table.

 

Sirius was wishing he had said nothing at all when Remus opened his mouth to speak.

 

"I know," he said, "Alphard Black's nephew, right?"

 

"Yeah. How did you – "

 

"What, you didn't think in a town this size you could remain anonymous did you?" Remus smirked. "Especially not someone like you," he added. Embarrassed, Remus turned his gaze from Sirius to the cup of tea on the table before him: he stared intently at it, as though its murky, amber hue was some sort of unexplained phenomenon; the cause of complete and utter fascination.

 

Across the table, Sirius was not sure what to say next. He fidgeted; he shifted in his seat. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

 

"Listen," he said suddenly, and rather more forcefully than he had intended. He paused: he could feel his pulse racing suddenly; he could feel beads of sweat prickling on the palms of his hands; he felt as if he could not quite breathe and didn't know why.

 

"Listen," he repeated, trying to quiet an inner chaos that he was absolutely sure Remus could see from across the table. "Listen, Remus. If you wanted, you could – ah – you could come 'round and – I don't know – we could listen to records or something, sometime. If you wanted. You don't have to, of course. Just – "

 

"Sure," Remus interjected, "Sure. I'd like that."

 

"Brilliant," Sirius said quietly. His nervous embarrassment was etched plainly on his face, but did not care, for it was reflected back at him in Remus' shy smile and flushing cheeks; in the colour of each boys' curved lips and sweaty palms.  The boys sat, mostly silent, for some time. Cups of tea came and went; presumably, clocks continued ticking and time passed, but on this day, Sirius and Remus did not notice.

 

Outside, the azure-blue sky of so many summer afternoons deepened, replaced by a dusky rose and the blazing orange of the setting sun of this, a twilight like any other; a dusk, and yet a dawn also.

 

Above, the stars began to shine.


End file.
